


The Saddest Are These

by CelticKnot



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Adventure, Crossover, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-03-14 19:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13597260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot/pseuds/CelticKnot
Summary: "It might have been." ME3/ST:DS9 crossover. The Normandy is plucked from the height of the Reaper War and emerges, damaged and limping, two hundred years later at Deep Space Nine in a version of reality where the Reapers never existed. Getting them home may prove to be more complicated than anyone thought. Rating subject to change with subsequent chapters.





	1. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Author's Note:**

> "Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: 'it might have been.'" —John Greenleaf Whittier

The wormhole sparked and flared as it burst open, jagged blue arcs tearing the normally graceful swirls of energy into tattered shreds. It seemed to choke, to cough, and finally spit out a ship that looked like it had been through a war.

“Magnify.”

The vessel was like none other Captain Benjamin Sisko had ever seen. Sleek and slender, she had four large engines held away from her sides on thick struts, giving her a roughly triangular shape. Perhaps the length of the _Defiant_ and far narrower, she was smaller than most Federation ships of the line, but those engines looked powerful. The hull was scarred, possibly ruptured in places, and one of the engines sputtered feebly. The rest were dark. The ship limped along on little more than momentum, leaking plasma from her ventral hull, all but dead in space.

Jadzia Dax spoke up from the science station, her puzzled gaze focused on the console in front of her. “Benjamin, I’m getting some very strange readings here.”

“Anything dangerous?”

“I don’t think so, sir. Just… strange.” Dax frowned. “I’m reading life signs, but can’t get a clear enough scan to identify them. The ship’s design doesn’t match anything in our database, and the energy signature from its warp drive is… well, it’s definitely capable of faster-than-light travel. But, Benjamin,” she said, looking up at him with wide eyes, “I don’t think it’s a warp drive. It’s a technology I’ve never seen before.”

 _First contact._ Sisko took a deep, steadying breath. Meeting a new species was always a simultaneously exciting and nerve-wracking prospect, especially under circumstances such as these. “Hail them,” he ordered.

“Actually, they’re hailing us,” Dax reported. “Audio only.”

“Open a channel.” Sisko subconsciously smoothed his uniform anyway. “Unidentified vessel, this is Captain Benjamin Sisko of the Federation starbase _Deep Space Nine._ Do you need assistance?”

The comm channel crackled with static, nearly obliterating the pilot’s startled-sounding response. _“—_ ace Nine _, this is… —_ SV Normandy _… —tems Alli… —esting vector and berth… —emergency rep…”_

 _Normandy?_ Sisko was momentarily stunned. Surely this ship hadn’t come from Earth. As with any unfamiliar vessel emerging unexpectedly from the wormhole, he had assumed it had originated in the Gamma Quadrant. Of course, the audio connection was poor—it was more likely his brain piecing together barely intelligible syllables and trying to supply something familiar.

But as the distressed ship’s drift brought her port side into full view, her name became visible, drawing startled gasps from all over Ops. _Normandy_ indeed, unmistakably emblazoned in Latin letters along half the length of the hull.

“Deep… _—_ ine, _do… —py? Our life support… –tems are fai… –mediate assistance!”_

Questions of the _Normandy_ ’s origins could wait. “We read you, _Normandy._ Stand by for docking instructions.” Sisko gave Dax a short, sharp nod; she nodded back and began transmitting. “Engineering and medical teams will meet you in the docking bay.”

* * *

The airlock door rolled open, releasing a cloud of acrid smoke and a crowd of people, stumbling and coughing as DS9’s medical and security personnel assisted the evacuation. Though it was hard to see through the haze, Sisko thought the people looked more humanoid than most denizens of the Gamma Quadrant—in fact, he saw no one at first who stood out as _not_ human. _Curiouser and curiouser._

The last three to evacuate came out together. Two were very clearly aliens, neither of whose species Sisko recognized. One was tall and lanky, vaguely avian-looking, with pale gray skin that looked almost as tough as the armor he wore and horrific scars on one side of his face. The other was more humanoid, though blue-skinned, with stiff tentacles on her head instead of hair. Between them, leaning on them for support, was a woman who wore what looked like a military dress uniform, though not for a service Sisko was familiar with.

But she was definitely human.

Swallowing his continued surprise for the moment, Sisko addressed them as engineering and more medical teams raced by to put out fires and assist any remaining crew’s evacuation. “Welcome to _Deep Space Nine._ I’m Captain Benjamin Sisko, and this is Doctor Julian Bashir. He’ll see to your wounded.”

With some effort, the human woman drew herself up straight and saluted him. “Captain,” she croaked, slurring the word slightly, and Sisko suddenly saw where her dark hair was matted with blood. “Commander Morgan Shepard, Alliance Navy. This is Garrus Vakarian and Liara T’Soni. Thank you for… your…” her voice trailed off as her face went white and her knees buckled. Barely conscious, she staggered against her avian crewmate—Vakarian—clutching his arm to remain upright.

Doctor Bashir stepped forward. “All right, the formalities can wait, Commander. Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

Shepard shook her head. “My crew…”

“They’ll be taken care of, too, don’t you worry,” Bashir reassured her.

Vakarian, who had been watching this anxiously, now spoke up. “Captain Sisko, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to accompany the commander.” His voice had an odd, but oddly expressive, dual tone that would have taken Sisko by surprise were his head not already reeling from the sheer number of questions the _Normandy_ ’s appearance had raised. “And our doctor, Karin Chakwas, is still somewhere on the ship _._ There were fires in the med bay, and I didn’t see her by the airlock. If your people can find her…”

The captain nodded. “Go, Mr. Vakarian. We’ll find Dr. Chakwas and anyone else who may be trapped aboard.”

* * *

“Physically, most of them are fine, sir. Scrapes, bruises, some minor burns and few severe cases of smoke inhalation. Four crewmen are of species I’ve never seen before, and two of those have rather unique biochemistry that—”

“The short version, please, Doctor.”

The set of Bashir’s face was grim. “Frankly, sir, there’s something about Commander Shepard that has me concerned.”

“Will she make it?”

Bashir nodded once. “Absolutely. Just a concussion and a small laceration. She’ll be waking up any minute. But look at this!” He gestured to one of the monitors in astonishment.

Sisko frowned at the image. “Am I looking at the inside of a person or a computer?”

“Exactly. She has so many cybernetic implants, it’s as though they’re literally holding her together. They’re woven into her bones, her organs, her muscles, her skin—many parts have been outright replaced!” He fixed the captain with a wide-eyed stare. “I’ve never seen cybernetics this extensive outside of…”

Sisko’s breath caught in his throat. “The Borg.”

“But it’s not like any Borg technology I’ve ever seen,” Bashir continued. “There’s nothing visible on the surface, and no evidence of any… unnatural additions, aside from enhancements to muscular strength and tissue regeneration. There are no nanites in her blood. She wasn’t assimilated, sir. She was _rebuilt.”_

Before Sisko could question him further, Vakarian’s dual-toned voice rang out from the next room. “Doctor! She’s waking up!”

It was finally time for some answers.

* * *

Morgan Shepard opened her eyes with a moan. She felt heavy and weak, and struggled to remember where she was and how she got here.

She heard Garrus shout something, then his scarred face floated into view. “Easy, Shepard,” he murmured. “You took a bad hit to the head. Doctor Bashir got you all patched up, and he says you’ll be fine.” His subvocals, she realized as her head cleared enough to pay attention, betrayed relief anyway.

“Doctor… who?” she groaned, struggling to sit up. “Where are we, Garrus? Where’s Doctor Chakwas? Is the crew…?”

“Your crew is just fine, Commander,” came a smooth, gentle voice. Shepard looked up to see two men enter the ward: one curly-haired and slender with blue shoulders on his jacket; the other bald, broader, and wearing red. It was the man in blue who’d spoken. “You were the only one seriously injured. Dr. Chakwas is on the Promenade getting something to eat, I believe. Most everyone else is making repairs on the _Normandy._ But Garrus here hasn’t left your side.”

Shepard nodded, a little surprised when the motion didn’t produce the wave of dizziness she’d belatedly expected. “Thanks, Doctor.” She turned to the other man as memory began to sluggishly return. “Captain… Sisko?”

The captain smiled kindly. “That’s right. I’m sure you have plenty more questions, Commander—I certainly have some for you, if you feel up to it.”

Shepard sat up straighter and swung her legs off the side of the bed. She was feeling better by the minute, actually. She didn’t know what kind of medical technology these people had, but she hoped she could get a hold of it for the _Normandy._ “You bet I have questions, sir. Starting with, _what is this place?_ Your technology, your uniform—I don’t recognize any of it. You’re human… but not Alliance.”

Sisko sat on another bed, facing her, as Garrus turned away from their conversation to speak with Joker on the comm. Keeping this informal, then. “To be honest with you, Commander,” he said, “I don’t know anything about this Alliance of yours. _Deep Space Nine_ is a Starfleet outpost belonging to the United Federation of Planets, headquartered on Earth.”

“The United… _Earth,_ sir?” Shepard shook her head, confused. “The _Systems Alliance_ is headquartered on Earth. It encompasses all human territories from the Terminus to the Traverse to Citadel space. I’ve never heard of the Federation. Or Starfleet.”

The two commanders stared at each other in bewilderment, neither understanding the other.

It was Garrus who broke the silence. “Excuse me, Captain Sisko,” he said hesitantly, “but our pilot was just looking at his star charts, and he wants me to ask you… what year it is.”

“What year?” Sisko frowned. “By Earth standard, it’s 2372. Why?”

 _There_ went the dizziness. “We’re two hundred years in the future,” Shepard breathed.

Now it was Garrus’s turn to stare. “We’re _what?”_

Shepard kept her eyes locked on Sisko. “Captain, as far as my crew and I were aware, it’s 2186. We came from the height of the Reaper War.” Her jaw dropped as the implications dawned on her. “And if you’re here, now, that means… that means we _won!”_

Sisko and Bashir looked from her to each other, utterly uncomprehending. “The Mirror Universe?” the doctor asked quietly. The tone of his voice made it a proper name, something this crew had experienced before. The tension on his face implied the experience had not been pleasant.

“Not the same one,” Sisko replied. He turned back to Shepard. “Another one.”

The room was most definitely spinning now. If that was true, she and her crew were farther from home than she’d imagined. Farther than should ever have been possible. “Are you saying we’re in some kind of… alternate reality?” she demanded. “And you’ve had contact with others before?”

“I’m afraid so, Commander,” Sisko replied grimly.

“Then… you know how to get us home.”

The captain shook his head, dousing the spark of hope before it could light. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course not,” Garrus muttered darkly, echoing her own thoughts. “It can never be _that simple.”_

Shepard shot him a warning look, then asked Sisko, “So, what’s our next step, then?”

Sisko stood, and Shepard hopped down off the bed as well. “First, your senior staff and mine should meet and try to find some common ground so we can all understand one another. Then I think we should have our science teams knock heads and see what they come up with.”

Shepard couldn’t help but smile a little—she liked Sisko already. He reminded her a lot of Anderson. “Agreed.”

“I’d also like to volunteer my engineering staff to assist with repairs to the _Normandy_ where they can,” Sisko continued. “In the meantime, you and your crew are welcome to make use of the Promenade—if you’re coming from a war zone, a little shore leave may do your people some good. May as well make the most of the situation.”

“Thank you, Captain. I think we’ll take you up on all of that.” Shepard reached out to shake Sisko’s hand. “Dr. Liara T’Soni is my lead scientist; who should I have her reach out to?”

“That would be me,” came a voice from the doorway. Shepard turned to see a woman there, apparently human, with strange markings tattooed down either side of her face, smiling warmly. “Lieutenant Commander Jadzia Dax,” she said by way of introduction. “I’ve already been in touch with Liara over comm, and we’ve started to hash out some theories. I’m looking forward to meeting her in person.”

Shepard shook her proffered hand as well. “There’s more to Liara than meets the eye.”

Dax’s eyes twinkled. “Then I think we’ll get along just fine.”


	2. We're All Mad Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Mass Effect, the names of alien species usually begin with a lowercase letter (asari, salarian, quarian, and so on), but in Star Trek, they are capitalized (Klingon, Vulcan, Bajoran, etc.). My theory is that this is because the Mass Effect species are not named after their home planets (e.g. turians from Palaven), whereas Star Trek species, for the most part, are (e.g. Cardassians from Cardassia). However, since each character would think according to the norms of their own universe, POVs of Star Trek characters in this story will capitalize all species names, while POVs of Mass Effect crew will have them all lowercase.

_Deep Space Nine_ ’s conference room was at least twice the size of _Normandy_ ’s war room, and far more open. Both Shepard’s squad and Sisko’s senior officers fit comfortably around the large table, and after introductions had been made, almost everyone seemed to have found their counterpart on the other crew.  
  
Captain Sisko stood beside Shepard, a small smile on his face as he watched the two crews interact. Doctors Chakwas and Bashir seemed to hit it off well, and were already comparing notes. So too were Liara and Dax, who Shepard had learned was not human after all and far older than she looked—or at least, part of her was. Chief O’Brien had been a little taken aback by Tali’s face mask at first, but had warmed up to her quickly. James was asking Odo increasingly impertinent and personal questions, earning himself eye rolls and exasperated sighs from the changeling. Garrus had taken a seat beside Worf and was trying—and failing—to coax a smile out of the perpetually scowling klingon. Ashley and the bajoran, Kira, seemed to have found some common ground, and nobody seemed bothered by the presence of an unshackled AI in the room.

Well, Shepard _had_ caught O’Brien and Bashir whispering to each other while trying not to stare at EDI, but she suspected it wasn’t her intelligence they were discussing.

“All right, everyone, settle down,” Sisko said, and the room quieted immediately. He let the silence settle for a moment, then addressed his own crew. “Some of us have found ourselves the… _guests…_ of what we’ve come to call the Mirror Universe in the past,” he began. “Now we’re on the opposite end of that. There’s no way to sugarcoat this, people: Commander Shepard and the crew of the _Normandy_ come from an alternate reality and some two centuries in the past. Our task is to help them find their way home. I expect you and your departments to render whatever assistance you can.”

 _“Any_ assistance, sir?” O’Brien asked with a frown.

Sisko raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s your concern, Chief?”

O’Brien glanced around at the _Normandy_ crew. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy to help however I can.” He turned his eyes back to his captain. “I’m just wondering at what point the Prime Directive applies here.”

Sisko looked as if the thought had already occurred to him—and he’d hoped nobody would ask. He brought his fist to his mouth, frowned, then raised one finger. “That… is a very good question, Chief. Use your best judgement, and I’ll get back to you on that.”

Shepard could see her own curiosity reflected on her squad’s faces. “The Prime Directive, sir?” she asked.

Sisko sighed. “Starfleet’s General Order One, strictly prohibiting interference in the development or politics of other cultures—or timelines—particularly by sharing advanced technology. It’s the Federation’s highest principle, that we’re expected to uphold at all costs.”

“A law like that could’ve saved our galaxy a lot of grief,” Garrus commented.

Dax leaned forward. “But you can see where this situation leaves it open to interpretation.”

And potentially complicated things tremendously for their hosts. “I do,” Shepard replied. “We’ll try not to stick our noses where they don’t belong.” To her own crew, she added, “And if any of Captain Sisko’s people invoke this Prime Directive with any of you, you’re to drop the subject immediately. Is that clear?”

A mumbled chorus of “Yes, ma’am”s and “Understood, Commander”s was the response.

“That goes both ways,” Sisko said firmly. “Any sharing of new technology in either direction is strictly prohibited unless specifically authorized by your respective commanding officer. Does that work for you, Commander?” he asked Shepard.

“Makes sense to me, sir,” she agreed.

“Good.” The captain looked down at the datapad in his hand. “All right, Commander Shepard and I have put together a list of duty assignments. Chief, report to Lieutenant Gregory Adams on the _Normandy_ with as many people as you can spare to assist with repairs. Mr. Vakarian and Miss Tali’Zorah will go with you. Mr. Worf, you’re with EDI and Flight Lieutenant Moreau. Find a way to patch their communications system into ours so we can talk to each other. Dax, you’ll be working with Dr. T’Soni to try and figure out how this happened in the first place, and find a way to reverse it. Set up whatever you need in the science lab. Major, I need you to set up temporary quarters for our guests. See Lieutenant Commander Williams for any information you need. Everyone else, make yourselves useful however you can. Let’s get these people home. Dismissed!”

As the newly combined crew filed out of the room, Sisko turned to Shepard. “If you’ll meet me in my office, Commander, I have a few things I’d like to discuss with you in private.”

“Of course, sir. Lead the way.”

* * *

Sisko grabbed the baseball off his desk on his way around it, tossing it into the air and catching it as he dropped into his chair. He chuckled lightly as he looked up at Shepard, standing just inside the door at a stiff parade rest. “Have a seat, Commander,” he said. “I don’t want to stand on ceremony with you. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, maybe?”

As she took a seat, Shepard gave him a smile that was equal parts grateful and weary. “Coffee sounds wonderful.”

Sisko turned to the replicator. “Two _raktajinos,_ black.” Two mugs of piping hot Klingon coffee materialized on the pad, and Sisko couldn’t help but grin as he handed one to his astonished guest.

“Uh… th-thank you,” Shepard stammered. She studied the mug in her hands as if unsure whether or not it was actually real. “‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,’” she quoted softly to herself.

Sisko raised his eyebrows. “Arthur C. Clarke,” he replied, earning a look of equal surprise from Shepard. “It seems our two universes share a fair amount of history. At least, our Earths do.”

“Apparently.” Shepard sipped at her coffee, then nodded approvingly. “Mmm. That’s really good. What did you say it’s called?”

 _“Raktajino._ It’s Klingon; these Cardassian replicators have never been able to get Earth coffee right.”

Shepard laughed at that. “Hell, it can be hard to get Earth coffee right _without_ a replicator.” She shook her head. “Klingon… that’s Lieutenant Commander Worf’s people, right?”

“That’s right.” Sisko took a sip of his own coffee, the warmth and sheer normalcy of it taking the edge off this truly bizarre situation. “You’ve met a lot of new species today, haven’t you?”

“No kidding,” Shepard replied. “There’s no such thing as Klingons in my… my reality. Or Bajorans, or Trill, or changelings. I wonder where our universes diverged, that Earth would be so similar and the rest of the galaxy so totally different.”

“Well, in _my_ reality, there are no Turians, Quarians, or Asari. And no Reapers, either.” Sisko set down his mug and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about this Reaper War.”

Shepard closed her eyes and let out a long breath—and launched into a story that made Sisko’s blood run cold. She told him about Saren, Sovereign, and the Geth, her own death and resurrection, Cerberus and the Collectors. She recounted the invasion of Earth by giant sentient starships hell-bent on destruction, the battles for Palaven and Tuchanka, the coup attempt on the Citadel, the retaking of Rannoch and the fall of Thessia. She told him about the people she’d lost along the way: Kaidan Alenko, Mordin Solus, Thane Krios. But most unsettling were her descriptions of the abominations the Reapers made of those they conquered: Husks, Cannibals, Marauders, Brutes, Banshees, and countless other unspeakable horrors. All the peoples of her entire galaxy were embroiled in a desperate, nearly hopeless battle for their very existence. It made the looming threat of war with the Dominion look like a spitball fight by comparison.

Sisko found himself looking at her in a whole new light. She couldn’t be much more than thirty years old: young even to hold the rank of Commander, and yet here she was, saddled with more responsibility than most fleet admirals, in the midst of a war straight out of some Lovecraftian nightmare. And now, finding herself in a universe that had never heard the call of Cthulhu, all she wanted was to go back. “It’s probably arrogant of me to say I’m the only one who can complete my mission,” she murmured, staring into her now-empty mug, “but… I’m probably the only one who _will.”_ She looked up at him again, seeming to shake herself out of her reverie. “Captain, I can’t thank you enough for all of your help. I don’t know how we can begin to repay you.”

“There’s no need,” Sisko replied, waving off her concern. “We’re more than happy to—”

_“Odo to Sisko.”_

Sisko sighed. “Sisko here. What is it, Constable?”

The changeling’s voice over the comm was dry and unamused. _“Captain, would you and Commander Shepard meet me in my office, please? I’m afraid there’s been an… incident.”_

 _Well, that was probably inevitable,_ Sisko thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. “We’re on our way.” He met Shepard’s worried eyes. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” he reassured her. “Happens all the time in first contact situations.”

Shepard’s face was grim. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”


	3. A Grin Without a Cat

Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau was… not what Worf had expected.

On the turbolift to Upper Pylon Two where the _Normandy_ was docked, EDI had described to him in great detail how Lieutenant Moreau’s piloting skills had become almost legendary in their universe. She had told him how he had saved the ship from the Collector incursion, and how he had flown fearlessly into glorious battle in the heart of enemy territory. How he had over and over again outmaneuvered opponents so his brothers- and sisters-in-arms could live to fight another day. Surely the man was a warrior worthy of song.

He had not expected this great warrior to be… a cripple. Moreau could barely even stand. And his attitude—flippant, sarcastic, and utterly irreverent—frankly set Worf’s teeth on edge. It was a miracle Commander Shepard maintained any kind of discipline aboard the _Normandy,_ if she allowed all of her officers to speak to her like that.

But his actions did speak for themselves. In truth, Moreau’s physical disability only made his feats of military prowess all the more impressive. Perhaps he had earned the right to an acid tongue.

Yes, Worf certainly respected him. That didn’t mean he had to _like_ him.

It was going to be a very long day indeed. Worf studied the console before him, flexing his fingers in the ill-fitting borrowed gloves that would allow him to use the holographic interface _._ He tapped a few controls experimentally in an attempt to get used to the feeling of pushing buttons that weren’t actually there. “Computer,” he said finally, gritting his teeth against a growl of frustration, “display schematics for shipboard communications systems.”

Moreau gave an incredulous snort, looking almost insulted. “Uh, her _name_ is EDI.”

Confused, Worf scowled at him in annoyance. “I was talking to the ship’s computer, not the android,” he snapped.

“I am the ship’s computer,” EDI replied, sparing Worf another of Moreau’s insubordinate remarks. “This body is merely a terminal, allowing me to interact with the crew on a more… personal level.”

Worf studied her for a silent moment, wondering with faint disgust just how _personal_ a level she meant. “…I see,” he said finally. “Then would you not be of better use repairing critical systems?”

“I am,” said EDI. She straightened and clasped her hands behind her back, looking almost proud—as if an android could even feel pride. “At this moment, among other functions, I am helping Lieutenant Adams and Chief O’Brien restore power to the engines, cataloguing remaining medical supplies for Doctors Chakwas and Bashir, compiling data on the accident for Liara and Dax, and running comparative diagnostics on both _Normandy’s_ and _Deep Space Nine’s_ communications.” She tilted her head to one side in a gesture that reminded Worf a bit of Lieutenant Commander Data. “The Bajoran and Starfleet personnel address me as ‘Computer’ approximately sixty-eight point three percent of the time.” She looked over at Moreau, and if Worf didn’t know any better, he would swear her posture softened and her voice became placating. “I am not offended.”

Moreau turned away from them both, focusing his attention back on the console he was working on. “Well, _I’m_ offended,” he grumbled under his breath.

Worf growled softly, glaring down at his own terminal. Yes. A very long day.

* * *

_Well, at least nobody’s in handcuffs,_ Shepard thought. Though as she took in the scene in Constable Odo’s office on the station’s Promenade, she wondered idly if they even used handcuffs in the twenty-fourth century. How much crime there still was after another two hundred years of social evolution.

Judging by the look of weary exasperation on Odo’s face, evidently not much less than in the twenty-second.

Javik had been leaning against one wall, arms crossed, glaring at the man on the other side of the room. He straightened when he saw Shepard, his whole attitude one of righteous indignation. “Commander—” he began, but Shepard held up a hand to silence him.

By the far wall cowered yet another alien she’d never seen before. _Are humans the only species our two universes have in common?_ This man—well, she thought he was male, but that was always a questionable assumption with a new species—was short and bald, with a bulbous head and enormous round ears. He wore a flashy suit that she didn’t think was a uniform. One of the station’s many civilian contractors, perhaps? “Captain Sisko! Thank goodness you’re here!” he cried. He pointed a trembling finger at Javik. “He was gonna kill me!”

_Crap._ Shepard turned to Odo. “What’s going on here, Constable?” she asked.

Odo fixed her with a stare that had the unsettling effect of making _her_ feel like an unruly child. “Quark here has accused your Mr. Javik of assault,” he stated, his voice clipped and professional.

“Really?” Shepard raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to grit her teeth in anger. “Care to explain, Javik?” she bit out.

“He insulted my people!” Javik snapped. “He dishonors the memory of the Prothean Empire!”

“That was a misunderstanding!” Quark insisted with a halfhearted chuckle. His beady little eyes darted from Sisko to Shepard and back. He looked shifty; Shepard already didn’t like him. “All I did was offer to buy his memory fragment—”

“Memory _Shard,”_ Javik seethed.

“—Memory Shard, whatever. And the next thing I know, he’s got me floating up in the air like he controls gravity or something! I’ve never been so scared in my life!”

Odo snorted at that, but said nothing.

Javik rolled his eyes. “You would think he’d never met a biotic before,” he grumbled.

“I doubt very much that he has,” Sisko rumbled. He turned a questioning gaze to Shepard.

The beginnings of a headache gnawed at the back of Shepard’s eyes. This was bound to happen sooner or later: both universes’ translator technology allowed them to understand each other’s words, but of course some terminology would be different. This was almost guaranteed to be the first of many such difficulties. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what your people call it. Javik, Liara, and a couple of the enlisted crew have advanced telekinetic abilities.”

“This is… common where you’re from?” asked Odo.

“More in some species than others,” Shepard replied with a shrug. “All asari, some humans, and a handful of turians have trainable biotic abilities, as well as other species like krogan, salarians, and drell.” Her throat constricted as she thought of Thane, the grief over her friend’s recent death still fresh. “Protheans, too, obviously,” she added, nodding toward Javik.

Glancing back and forth between Sisko and Odo, she frowned. “I take it these abilities are less common here.”

“Almost nonexistent,” Sisko agreed. “And when they are present, they’re not often so finely controlled.”

“Controlled? You call that controlled?” Quark squawked.

Javik sneered at him. “I did not injure you, you primitive little troll. You should consider yourself lucky. I could have drained the life from your—”

_“Javik,”_ Shepard interrupted warningly. When he met her glare, she nodded expectantly toward Quark’s cringing form.

He narrowed his eyes at her, but when she didn’t back down, he relented. “Fine,” he sighed. To Quark, he grumbled, “I apologize for frightening you.”

“And?” Shepard prompted.

Javik snarled. “And for calling you a troll.”

Odo folded his arms. “Satisfied, Quark? Or do you want to press charges?”

“I’m still waiting for the rest of my apology,” Quark fired back, regaining a little boldness. He planted his hands on his hips, meeting Javik’s eyes defiantly. But when no answer was forthcoming, he sighed in defeat. “Whatever. I don’t want to cause an _incident.”_ He turned to Shepard and bowed slightly, wrists pressed together, fingers curled into his palms. The grimace on his face made her uncertain whether she’d just been respected or insulted, but she just stepped aside to let him pass.

She quirked an eyebrow at Javik.

“What? He’s still primitive.”

* * *

Major Kira Nerys lowered her weary body onto a barstool at Quark’s, grateful for a moment’s rest. She wasn’t an engineer to begin with, and most of _Normandy_ ’s technology was just too different for her to be of much use with repairs. So after setting up quarters for their guests, she’d spent the rest of the day clearing debris and fetching equipment. She was happy to help wherever she could, but it was good to finally sit down.

Many of Commander Shepard’s people seemed to have had the same idea—the bar was packed with new faces in Systems Alliance blues. Kira smiled, watching them mingle with DS9’s inhabitants, striking up conversations with members of alien species they’d never encountered before, some even sampling alien cuisine. One particularly adventurous yeoman—Traynor?—was staring at the plate of wriggling _racht_ before her with barely concealed horror. A few encouraging words and a friendly pat on the shoulder from Dax seemed to strengthen her resolve, and she gamely dug in.

“Mind if I join you, Major?”

Kira looked over to see Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams settling onto a stool beside her with a tray of what looked like the kind of meal Chief O’Brien would declare “comfort food.” Her dark hair was pulled back into a once-neat bun, a few strands falling into her face, and her uniform sported faint stains. She looked as tired as Kira felt. “Hell of a day,” Williams sighed.

“Hell of a day,” Kira agreed with a faint smile. “How are you holding up, Commander?”

Williams blew the stray hairs out of her face, only to ignore them when they fell back to where they’d started. “Well, considering that this morning I was fighting a hopeless war against the Reapers, only to suddenly find myself in a whole ’nother _universe_ with a damaged ship and no way home to my little sisters… _just peachy_.” She made a face as if the sarcasm had been as bitter on the tongue as to the ear. “Sorry. You and your people have been nothing but kind to us; you didn’t deserve that.”

Kira waved off her apology. “No, you’re right; it was a stupid question.” Then more solemnly, she asked, “Is it that bad, back home?”

Williams shook her head. “I’m going to need a drink if we’re talking about that. What does this Quark’s place have that’s good and strong?”

“I know just the thing. Quark!” Kira waved the Ferengi barkeep over. “A Stardrifter for my friend here. Double.” After a moment’s thought, she added, “Actually, make it two.”

Quark smiled his smarmiest smile. “Anything for you lovely ladies,” he oozed, then he fixed his gaze lecherously on Williams. “And I just want you to know that if there is anything you need,” he said, voice dripping with affected sympathy, “anything at all—a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on—you can always come to Quark.”

To her credit, Williams saw right through him. “Yeah, sure,” she muttered as he scurried away to get their drinks. She hooked a thumb in his direction as she turned an incredulous gaze at Kira. “Is he for real?”

Kira rolled her eyes by way of response, eliciting a chuckle from her companion.

When their drinks arrived, Williams took a cautious sniff, then a sip. “Ohh, that’s good stuff,” she murmured, and drank deeply. “So, yeah. The Reapers,” she growled. “It is that bad. And worse.”

“Reapers?”

“They’re a race of starship-sized sentient machines that live in dark space, beyond the edges of the galaxy,” Williams explained. “Even they don’t know who built them. They could be millions, maybe even billions of years old. And every fifty thousand years or so, they destroy all advanced organic life. The Protheans—the dominant species in the galaxy during the last cycle—were able to leave behind a few warnings, or we’d have been wiped out three years ago. But apparently, we’ve only delayed the inevitable.” She took another long, slow swallow of bright green liquid, closing her eyes as she savored it.

Kira’s breath stilled in her throat. “You make it sound like you’ve already lost.  Surely there’s still some hope?”

Williams bit her lip. “The skipper—Commander Shepard, I mean—she seems to think so. Though sometimes I think she’s trying to convince herself as much as the rest of us.” She stared at the surface of her drink, already more than half gone. “Almost all the major worlds are in ruins. Thessia is overrun. Palaven is burning, though the Turians put up a better fight than most. And Earth…” Her voice caught, and Kira could see tears threatening in her eyes. “New York. London. Beijing. Sydney. Just _gone._ It took _minutes.”_ She clenched her jaw, biting back the kind of rage and pain that Kira found so familiar, that comes of having your home ripped out from under you. “And the Alliance has us running around the galaxy playing _politics.”_ She drained the rest of her drink, slamming the glass back down on the bar as a burst of laughter rang out from the other end of the bar. “And I’m sitting here having drinks with aliens that don’t even _exist_ in my universe, while my crewmates shoot the shit and make new friends like they’ve already forgotten it’s Armageddon back home!” Her voice rose as she spoke until she shouted the last few words to the room at large. A brittle, uncomfortable silence descended.

Williams stood abruptly, glaring at Kira accusingly—though accusing her of what, Kira had no idea. “I should go,” she ground out harshly. “Thanks for the drink.”

Kira could only stare after her, slack-jawed and silent, as she stormed out, trailing nervous whispers in her wake.


	4. To Talk of Many Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For no particular reason, I had originally set the timeline for the Mass Effect side of this fic just before Priority: Rannoch. In writing this chapter, however, I decided to change the setting to shortly after Priority: Thessia. I've gone back and tweaked a few details in the previous chapters to reflect this.

"I'm uploading the logs now, but I don't know how useful they're going to be," said Liara apologetically. "I think our sensors were damaged in the… whatever it was that brought us here."

"Hmm. What makes you say that?" asked Dax from across the lab, her eyes fixed on the readouts in front of her.

Liara sighed. "The readings just don't make sense," she admitted. "We recorded elevated neutrino levels, exotic radiation, the strangest energy patterns—even EDI couldn't explain it all. It has to be a malfunction."

Dax looked up from her monitor with a reassuring smile. "I think your sensors are working fine, actually. Most of this is pretty normal when ships come through the wormhole." She stepped around the table to stand beside Liara, calling up another log to display side by side with the _Normandy_ 's. "See? These are the sensor readings from the last time we took the _Defiant_ through. There's the neutrino spike, the verteron radiation, the subspace distortions, all basically the same as what you recorded. This is good—it gives us a baseline to work from."

"Wait, hold on!" Dizzied by the implications of Dax's words, Liara stared at her incredulously. "Are you talking about a _stable wormhole?_ Please, I'm an archaeologist, not an astrophysicist, but I'm pretty sure that's impossible!"

Dax tipped her head and shrugged. "Well, it's certainly never been observed to occur naturally. The verteron nodes that we think are responsible for holding it in place don't form on their own. But this one was artificially constructed."

"Artificially constructed?" Liara demanded incredulously. "By whom?" The technology, the sheer power it would take to tear such a hole in the fabric of time and space, let alone to keep it stable enough to permit reliable passage, was… well, astronomical. Nigh unimaginable.

With a twinkle in her eyes, Dax replied, "By the aliens who live inside it."

"Inside the…" Liara trailed off. It was too much. There was no way any of this could be true, and she blushed angrily at the thought of having fallen for such an obvious trick. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

But Dax actually looked surprised at her reaction. "Not at all," she said seriously. "It took us by surprise a few years ago when we first discovered them, too. Or perhaps I should say, when _they_ discovered _us."_

"…By the Goddess." Liara's head spun as she imagined the possibilities that presented. "If these people can build something like this… maybe they can help us get home!" Then a rather more unsettling thought occurred to her. "Or maybe they brought us here in the first place. But to what purpose, I wonder?"

Dax shook her head. "I think we can rule out the wormhole aliens' direct involvement. They don't often involve themselves in the affairs of other species, except the bajorans."

"The bajorans?" Liara asked, puzzled. "What do they want with the bajorans?"

With a shrug, Dax replied, "Nobody really knows. But they seem to care about what happens to Bajor—in fact, the bajorans worship them as gods."

"I see." Liara frowned thoughtfully, the parallels uncomfortably obvious. The disturbing things she'd learned in the Temple of Athame on Thessia, the revelations she wanted with all her being to deny, began to clamor insistently for her attention.

Though she herself had never been particularly religious, the idea that the figure asari had worshipped for millennia as a goddess might actually have been a Prothean had shaken her profoundly. It made her feel as though her entire culture was based on a lie. But then, to a species just beginning to be self-aware, the spacefaring Protheans could easily be seen as godlike, endowed with power and knowledge far beyond the early asari's primitive comprehension. Perhaps the wormhole aliens had been the same to the ancient bajorans. And perhaps, just perhaps, such "divine" intervention in a species' development wasn't an uncommon thing at all.

She had tried to dismiss the idea out of hand. But to do so was a rash, emotional, almost reflex reaction, especially in the face of all the evidence. Evidence of precisely the type she was specifically trained to study and interpret. It was entirely unbecoming of her, as a scientist, to ignore it.

"Dr. T'Soni?" Dax's voice, tinged with concern, drew her out of her reverie. "Are you all right?"

Liara blinked and shook her head, realizing belatedly that she'd been staring off into space for a bit too long. "Yes, of course, I'm fine," she said. "I'm sorry, it's just… how did the bajorans react to learning that their gods were really just… people?"

"About like you'd expect," Dax replied with a shrug. "Some rejected the idea as blasphemy. Others took it as proof that their faith was right. Some lost faith altogether. Major Kira could tell you more." She studied Liara for a moment. "You have more than a scientific interest in this, don't you?"

"Perhaps I do," Liara admitted. "I've recently learned of a similar alien interference in my own people's development, and I'm having a bit of a… you might call it a crisis of faith." She shook her head again. "But it doesn't matter right now. None of this is going to help us figure out how to get the _Normandy_ home. We should get back to work."

Dax nodded solemnly. "Okay. But I think you should talk to Kira when you get the chance. She'll understand."

"I'll do that, thanks." Liara turned back to the computer console. "Now, about these sensor readings…"

* * *

"So you're saying that by running an electric current through this element zero stuff, you can actually raise or lower the _mass_ of anything nearby?" O'Brien huffed in amazement, a grin spreading across his face. "That's incredible."

Tali nodded enthusiastically. Even though he couldn't see her face through her mask, O'Brien thought he was getting the hang of her mannerisms enough to tell that she was smiling, too. Or whatever the Quarian equivalent was. "We just call it the mass effect," she said.

"Well, this… mass effect must be how you got around the problem of infinite mass at light speed!" O'Brien exclaimed, almost giddy with excitement. It was so elegantly simple. "Lower the mass of the ship—"

"And instead of needing infinite energy to accelerate, you just need a lot of it," Tali finished. "That's why the _Normandy_ 's drive core is so huge. There's enough eezo in it to reduce her mass to nearly nothing. She's one of the fastest ships in the galaxy! Er… our galaxy, anyway. In our timeline. Universe. Whatever." She shook her head, pressing one hand to her mask in a gesture that might have been embarrassment or exasperation. _"Keelah,_ this is so confusing."

O'Brien chuckled. "Won't get any argument from me." He looked up at the towering sphere of the drive core. Though not nearly as tall as the warp core of, say, the _Enterprise,_ it was far more massive, taking up a large portion of two entire decks. It seemed almost _too_ large for a ship this size. "How fast canthe _Normandy_ go?" he wondered aloud.

EDI's voice emerged from an unseen speaker, making O'Brien jump. "In standard FTL, the _Normandy_ is capable of a maximum velocity of approximately three thousand times the speed of light."

"Thank you, Compu—uh, EDI." O'Brien frowned as he ran the calculations in his head. "Three thousand times lightspeed, that's equivalent to… warp nine point nine!" He nodded appreciatively. "Right up there with some of the fastest ships in Starfleet. Not bad. Not bad at all."

Tali tilted her head curiously. "Warp? You mean, like folding space?"

O'Brien couldn't help but smile. Her curiosity was insatiable, especially when it came to ship technology. In the time they'd spent working together, she'd probably learned as much about Starfleet vessels as he had about the _Normandy._ But then, for a member of a culture that named its people after the ships they served on, that was probably par for the course. "Not exactly," he said. "Warp engines distort the space immediately around the ship, which sort of rides the—"

The alarmed voice of one of _Normandy_ 's engineers interrupted his train of thought. "Kenneth! What are you doing?!"

"Rerouting power away from the starboard thermal induction regulator. It needs to be replaced."

"Wait! I haven't shut down the—" There was a muffled _thud_ from below, followed by a faint whiff of scorched electronics. The first crewman—Gabby Daniels, if O'Brien remembered correctly—heaved a weary sigh. "Nice going, Kenneth."

Tali swore, running back to the two crewmen's shared console. "Donnelly, what did you do?"

"He blew out the quantum flux inhibitor," Daniels snapped before Donnelly could speak. "We're lucky the whole drive core isn't fried."

Donnelly at least had the good grace to look sheepish. "Oops?"

"He's hardly left his station since we got here," said Daniels, a hint of something softer creeping in under her biting tone. "I don't think he's slept in two days. He's starting to make stupid mistakes."

"Well, it could have been worse." Tali shook her head. "Both of you, take a break. Get some sleep, and come back in the morning when you've got clear heads. I'll go down and fix the inhibitor."

"Yes, ma'am. Come on, Kenneth, let's get out of here."

Tali turned to O'Brien. "I could use a little help, if you don't mind, Chief."

"Not at all." O'Brien picked up his toolkit. "Lead the way."

The engineering subdeck was filled with an acrid haze and the whine of the ventilators. O'Brien coughed, envying Tali her sealed enviro-suit. But the air was clearing quickly, and the fire-suppression systems hadn't activated. _Thank God for small favors._ The sparking, crackling unit in the far wall—obviously the blown inhibitor—dangled precariously from a handful of wires and ruptured conduits, the panel that must have covered it lying on the floor halfway across the room. "Good thing no one was down here when it blew," he commented.

Tali laughed, her reaction taking O'Brien by surprise. _"Keelah,_ I can only imagine if Jack was still here! She'd have had Donnelly's head for this!"

"Who's Jack?"

"Jack was part of Shepard's crew when we went after the Collectors last year," Tali explained, still giggling. "She was… let's say, a loner. She claimed this space as her quarters. And she definitely wouldn't take kindly to wall panels exploding while she was trying to sleep, or whatever she did down here."

O'Brien still didn't see what was so funny, but he could tell there was a lot she wasn't saying, and decided it was probably best not to pry. "Well, I sure wouldn't want my quarters exploding on me, either."

From a cautious distance, Tali scanned the dangling component with her omni-tool. Part tricorder, part miniature replicator, part weapon, all packed into a holographic interface, O'Brien couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. "Omni," indeed—it seemed to do almost anything he could imagine. It could replace almost all of his own equipment by itself. He wondered if he could talk Commander Shepard into parting with one.

"Okay, it should be safe to remove," Tali said. "I need to disconnect the remaining conduits carefully, though. Chief, can you support its weight? We need to move it gently; it might be unstable."

O'Brien gingerly took hold of the device, angling it just enough to keep the sparks out of his face. It took only a few moments for Tali to free it, and he set it on the room's small workbench. "I'll start patching up the damaged conduits," he said.

"Thank you, Chief."

They worked in relative silence for a while, Tali's concentration on the task at hand overriding her penchant for chattiness. But finally, there was a loud click and a faint whine, and the inhibitor flared to life. "Got it!" Tali exclaimed.

"Great, I think we're ready over here, too," O'Brien replied. "Need a hand reinstalling it?"

"Please. No, wait." Tali studied her omni-tool's readout, her body language suggesting a frown. "Something's wrong." She bent over the device again, the whine growing louder and rising alarmingly in pitch. "I think there's a redundant—"

But before she could finish her sentence, the inhibitor exploded in her face.

The blast left O'Brien momentarily blinded and his ears ringing, but aside from a few scratches from flying shrapnel, otherwise uninjured. But Tali had been right on top if it! He blinked furiously to get his vision to clear, and when it did, what he saw made his breath catch in his throat.

O'Brien leapt into action. He slapped his combadge as he knelt beside Tali's unconscious form. "O'Brien to infirmary! Medical emergency, _Normandy_ subdeck! We need emergency transport!"

Julian's voice came back over the comm, cool and professional, cutting through O'Brien's near panic. _"Acknowledged, Chief. Stand by."_

The last thing he saw before the transporter dissolved his vision was Tali's face, pale skin and delicate features marred by cuts and burns, exposed behind her shattered mask.


End file.
